The Windows
Two small spheres have retreated, piercing
The continuum of Time. A memory plays on a reel
Underneath the shock of copper hair. Two eyes
Look sightless at space, reliving some episode
Of thier owner's life. Some replayed pleasure
Lifts its audience up into a slight grin. The head
Shakes--then the eyes meet mine, a showdown.
Indignance flickers there halfheartedly, as the
Half-drawn sword would gleam, then retreats in
The shadow of the distraction--there is no
Threat. The memory ends, the puncture wound
In Time's motion heals, reality sinks in. Move on.
What infinities dwell in the minds of man!
Two younger orbs meet mine--startled!--then
Lids shade them in modesty. Somehow
A connection was made and I could see in:
A depth of sorrow, pain--a nightmare
Lived. In the moment of contact I reached inside,
Our heartbeats merged; a wave of pain pinned
Me to the stony floor of mortality. I sensed the lake
Of tears threatening to release its overflow
In streams down the paradoxical wreckage, purging
What no masquerade could ever remove. Such
A monstrous burden shapes her in weighing her
Down. What have we done? What can we do?
25.1.98
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